A Trustworthy Pirate
by xmystorytime
Summary: The fairies claim it wasn't their fault. England's inclined to disagree. Either way, two of his former colonies have been sent back in time and both are in for one hell of a ride. 'DON'T LET THIS BE A DREAM WHERE I WAKE UP IN A DRESS OH GOD I CANT LOOK.'
1. Prologue

**A Trustworthy Pirate**

By xmystorytime

**Summary: **When it comes to magic, things never quite work out as planned. When it comes to America, things _definitely_ don't go as planned. Therefore, put together, it's no surprise chaos is the result. The fairies accidentally send America and Canada back in time to the end of sixteenth century England, where the Anglo-Spanish War is in full swing, the country is thriving under 'Good Queen Bess' and the French are suffering. What more could you ask for?

**Warnings:** Pirates. Language. Francis.

**Ships:** None.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia, the one to worship would be Hidekazu Himaruya. Please treat him carefully - you don't want him broken and incapable of creating more Hetalia, right?

* * *

**A/N (19/04/11) **_(date/month/year)_

This story has now been rewritten to be _much _better than it was before, and thus the next chapter is also in the works.

Therefore, you better enjoy the new polished version, savvy?

* * *

Today was a no-good very bad day.

'Bloody brat!' England snarled, slamming the hallway door shut behind him. He paused only to yank off his coat and dump it on the floor before continuing through to the small kitchen and collapsing in a worn-out chair. Moments later he leapt to his feet again and started pacing, hands twitching and fingers curling in the way he imagined they'd look wrapped around a certain nation's neck.

He swore again, loudly, and turned to kick the cabinet, biting back a cry when pain shot up his foot.

The pain brought him back to reality; as it dulled, so did his anger. Feeling drained, he fell back into the chair and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders slumped. He knew he probably looked the very picture of defeat – oh, if only America could see him! He would probably laugh himself silly to see his pitiful former guardian so weak.

England wearily rubbed his forehead, letting out a heavy sigh. He knew he should be preparing to head home and not sulking in the hotel room – he had the many missed calls from his boss to prove it – but he was incapable of doing anything productive at this moment in time. He couldn't stop thinking about his former charge's words and actions, the humiliation when he'd been incapable of stopping him.

'England?' he blinked and looked up. The fairies hovered around him, concern on their faces, and he summoned a weak smile for them. The unicorn stood by the door, ready to dash at the first sign of danger.

'I'm fine,' he told them, straightening in his seat and beckoning for the unicorn to join him.

'What happened?' the blue fairy hovered in front of him while the others settled on the table. 'You haven't come back this angry since the time France tried to bu-' England grunted, not wanting to remember that time, and she fell silent. The unicorn finally joined him and England ran a hand through its mane, relaxing instinctively.

'It was – I didn't – ah,' he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. 'Looking back, I probably made a big deal out of nothing. With the way my government currently is, I'm more on edge. Plus, he usually pisses me off anyway…'

'Oh, so it was America then?' the fairies shared knowing looks.

England blushed. 'W-what? No, you've got the wrong ide-'

'But he's the only one you defend like this, even if he's in the wrong,' the green fairy interrupted, moving to hover next to the blue. 'Don't try to deny it!' she waggled her finger at him and England shut his mouth, knowing better than to directly argue with them when they were like this.

They were such mischievous creatures, always causing some kind of chaos. It was usually harmless or done with the best of intentions, but it didn't always go to plan. One had to be cautious.

The mythical creatures huddled in a circle. The red fairy was the only one who didn't join in; she settled on his shoulder and placed a fragile, tiny hand to his cheek. He lent into her touch slightly.

'What did he do this time?' she asked softly.

'Ah, well, I suppose it began with the usual…'

_[Flashback]_

He drummed his fingers on the table, glancing between the chatting nations and the empty seat at the head of the table. The meeting was meant to start quite awhile back but they were still missing someone. Given that their host – that is, the one whose country they were in – was also the missing nation, it would have been impossible to start the meeting without him.

'It's been almost twenty minutes,' Germany broke the silence with a look at the doors. 'I know it's unusual, but if we wish to achieve anything today then we should-' he broke off as the doors burst open.

America, the eighth and final nation in this meeting, swaggered in with a big grin. He was talking loudly on his mobile to someone and didn't acknowledge any of the other nations as he made his way to his seat and flung himself down, automatically rocking back and resting his feet on the table.

'I know right? It's fucking pathetic!' he laughed. 'It was only a joke, yeah? They way overreacted!'

Germany and England shared an irritated look. France sighed heavily, resting his chin on his palm and gazing at America with half-lidded eyes, while Japan shifted uncomfortably on his seat. Italy didn't even look up from doodling and Russia was smiling, but it was noticeably colder. They waited longer for America to end his call and start the meeting, but he just kept talking.

Eventually, England realised he would have to be the one to sort this out. He cleared his throat and glared at the boy. He got a glare back but, thankfully, America hung up and crossed his arms over his chest.

'Jeez, don'tcha know it's rude to interrupt a guy's call England?' he demanded.

'Don't _you _realise it's rude to be extremely late for a meeting in your own country?' England countered.

America shrugged, 'Eh, I knew you guys would wait so I took my time. Besides, this isn't even that important, so…' England scowled fiercely. America guffawed. 'Nice unibrow old man!'

The only thing that stopped England from leaping out his seat and punching the git was the strong hand on his wrist. He shot a dark look at Germany, who ignored it.

'America…' the strict man began disapprovingly, but America leapt to his feet.

'Alright!' he clapped his hands together. 'I'm going first because I'm the awesomeist of us all, okay?' though it was obvious he didn't expect an answer. He pulled a few crumpled notes out of his pocket, hastily done and England caught a glimpse of some kind of doodle on one. Sweet wrappers fell to the ground but America didn't even appear to notice.

The rest of the nations were too surprised to protest.

'So, here's us,' he held up a crude drawing of what might have been Earth, if looked at sideways and the only land mass was America, 'and here's space, right?' Oh God, it was one of _those _speeches.

England dropped his head in his hands, making no effort to hide his action. The last thing he needed right now was another one of America's ridiculous suggestions. Thus far this meeting had been a waste of time - time he desperately needed.

Elections were going on at home. They always involved a lot of work for a nation, torn between candidates and running back and forth, but this one was even more stressful because it looked like it was heading for a hung parliament. If so, that would be a disaster for England. He would be pulled in all directions, caught between his people's desires, and left in a state of limbo.

'Next!' he interrupted. His voice was muffled but the word still clear. He lifted his head, catching sight of the relieved expressions on other nations before they were hidden away.

'But I didn't even get to the best part! Why do you gotta interrupt me anyway?'

'Because what you're planning to say is nothing different to last time and thus still equally as ludicrous!' he snapped and America scratched at his nose, looking a little sheepish and avoiding England's stare. England narrowed his eyes. 'Did you even prepare for this meeting at all?'

'I meant to!' the other defended. 'Honest! I just completely forgot about the time and then stuff came up and before I knew it…' he shrugged helplessly.

England ground his teeth together. 'Does anyone have anything sensible to say?' he directed this to the other G8 members, but they all shook their heads. 'So, no one has anything new to say other than America?' he checked desperately. The silence continued and he dropped his head in his hands again. It really _was _a waste of time. Damn it all.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, the third time in the past hour, and he bit back a curse.

'I suggest we adjourn, then,' Germany stated, getting to his feet. Italy automatically followed.

'Wait, you can't go! I haven't even-' but America was ignored.

With immense relief, everyone except America left the stuffy room. England was the third to leave and had just started to call back his boss when the phone was snatched out of his hand. He glared at America.

'May I have my phone back?' he asked, trying to reign in his temper before he said something he'd regret.

'You interrupted my speech, I'll interrupt your call,' America's words were light but his eyes were cold. It was a look usually directed only at Russia, so when England was the recipient it took him by surprise. He stared up at America who used his height to hold the phone out of reach. England briefly considered trying to jump and get it, but suspected that was what America wanted.

Not in the mood to be picked on by the new school bully, in one swift movement he stepped back and kicked America's elbow – causing him to swear in surprise – before catching his phone and walking away. He didn't get far before a hand gripped his arm and yanked him back around.

America scowled down at him, quite intimidating, but England refused to be cowed. Even if his arm hurt like hell.

'What is _with _you today?' he demanded, trying to tear his arm free. 'You're not acting like yourself at all!'

'What's with me? What's with _you_?' America retorted, tightening his grip, and England couldn't stop a wince. 'You're acting like such a bastard. What happened, did that stick up your ass get shoved up even further or what?'

'What's that meant to mean?' he demanded, taking a step back in the hope distance would hide his racing heart. 'I don't have a stick up my arse you git! If anyone's has, it's you! Twenty minutes late, ignoring others in favour of a personal call, littering, not preparing for your own meeting and _bloody let go of my arm you bastard!_'

The other glowered but finally let go, holding his hands up placating, 'Whoa whoa, England, dude! It was just a joke! Man, with the way you over-react it's no wonder no one wants to hang around with a stuffy old man like you!' Cradling his arm to his chest, England wondered when this had become such a regular occurrence he couldn't be bothered to do anything about it anymore.

'Ah, mon Amérique, I thought I heard your dulcet tones,' France appeared out of nowhere and drew England to his chest. 'Did Angleterre forget to tell you? Why, just last night we-'

'F-France!' England elbowed him before he could continue, coincidentally forcing the frog to let go on his waist, and then moved to a few metres away hoping the distance would hide his red cheeks. His sore arm throbbed from the movement but he didn't let it show. Unfortunately, it seemed his reaction had supported rather than protested France's claim and, for the first time, America looked apprehensive.

'You two… ah…?' he blinked. 'But I thought you guys...' he looked between them.

The very thought he was in a relationship with that frog finally pushed England over the edge.

'You know what? Fuck you both. I have better things to do,' he made a quick escape, hoping the hot anger would replace the hurt he felt deep inside.

_[End Flashback]_

The kitchen was too quiet once he stopped talking. His faithful friends had gathered around and nuzzled him, providing comfort, and he couldn't keep a warm smile off of his face. He was touched these pure creatures, full of life and love, would care for someone as decrepit and laden with misery as him.

'Is your arm better now?' the red fairy asked, fluttering lower to it. England laughed.

'I've had much worse,' he reassured her, before pulling up his sleeve and inspecting the hand-print bruise on his arm. America was really strong, huh…

'He's a jerk,' the green fairy scowled.

'And too arrogant,' the blue fairy chimed in.

'Everyone becomes arrogant when they're in charge, though…' the red fairy pointed out quietly, shooting a side glance at England. The nation winced.

'This is different!' the green argued. 'The world was a wretched place back then, barren and cold, and friends became enemies in the blink of an eye. You had to be strong and prove you could defend yourself otherwise you would be stabbed in the back at first opportunity. England had no choice!'

'Please, don't make excuses for me,' England cut in. He was touched she would defend him so, but they all knew England hadn't acted with that reason in mind – at least, not entirely.

'Well, he's still a nuisance!' the green fairy stomped her foot and a sprinkle of pixie dust fell on England's knee. It began to rise off the floor and he kept it pressed down with two fingers, smiling softly.

'Maybe we should have some fun with him…' the blue fairy hummed. The green fairy brightened.

'Good idea! Hey, let's start with-'

'Peace my dears,' England interrupted, his smile widening at their attempt to make him feel better, and was about to stand up when his phone rang. With a sigh, he pulled it out his jacket pocket and answered without bothering to look at the ID. It was probably his boss – the man had been trying to get in contact for several hours, after all. 'Yes sir?'

'_Sir? Mon ami, you are as kinky as ever non?_' England slapped his forehead. He could _not _deal with the Frog right now. '_What say you we get together for a little… têtê-a-têtê?_'

'The only reason I haven't hung up yet is because it takes too much effort to press the button,' he warned.

'_You tease! Raising my hopes and then dashing them_-'

'France!'

'_Oui, oui,_' France sighed. '_Angleterre__, I spoke to __Amérique__ after you left and I did not like what I see. He is arrogant, cruel. He looked at me like I was below him, me! I 'ave been through more zan he could imagine, 'elped him vhen no one would and 'e has the gall to-_' so France had noticed too. It would have made England feel better, but having French babbled into one's ear was enough to sour anyone's mood. He scowled.

'You're speaking French again,' he interrupted, picking at a few marks on his shirt.

'_I apologise for speaking in my own language._'

England smiled faintly, bringing his nails up to the light. 'Sarcasm doesn't suit your tongue, Frog.'

'_Non? Ah, what a shame. I guess only those who have an ugly language can master the art._'

'Fuck off,' he said flatly, staring at his nails in fascination. Why hadn't he ever noticed how battered they were before? They were kept short but that didn't seem to make a difference to the dirt underneath them. He peered at the nail on his forefinger. Just where on earth had it come from?

'_Angleterre, what do we do?_' he blinked, finally remembering he was on the phone to France.

Well, it was hardly his fault he forgot. There were far more interesting things he could be doing right now.

'What can we do?' he replied, pulling a face. 'He will eventually fall, like others have done,' _like we did,_ he didn't say but they both heard, 'and then we will pick up the pieces and be on our merry way once more.'

'_I suppose,_' France replied sadly. '_It is a shame, non? He was our hope, he and Canada…_'

'Who?' England queried, though he wasn't really paying attention and thus missed France's answer. Instead he thought back to when they'd first discovered the New World. It had been full of riches, with vast canyons and fields that went on without end – such a pure, glorious world, hardly touched by the pollution of what was now Europe.

The New World had been a New Start, for all of them. That was why they'd all fought so hard for colonies; Spain, the Netherlands, Sweden, France, Russia…

So much for that plan.

Maybe… no, almost certainly, it was his fault America was like this. He had spoilt the lad, tried to keep him hidden from the others, safe in his house. He hadn't wanted the innocent boy to suffer invasion like he had, like so many others had, but… it had backfired. He had felt smothered; he had rebelled against his captor. Years on, America was paying for England's own inadequacy…

'_Ah, you are so arrogant, oui? It is such a pain…_'

'W-what?' he spluttered. Where had that come from?

'_Thinking it is your fault he is like this. You're hardly responsible for him, __sourcils__ – he got rid of you centuries ago,_' England felt hot anger and deep sadness whip through him, but remained silent. France's tone wasn't mocking, or insulting, he was stating a fact. '_He took on too much power with too much inexperience._'

Still, England made a mental note to punch him when they next met.

'How did you-?'

'_We have known each other a long time, non? Ah, but you were so much cuter back then!_' France said wistfully. England glowered at the wall and was about to snap out an insult when he continued. '_Are you busy ton-?_'

He flung the mobile away as if it had burnt him and eyed it suspiciously. It was only when it started vibrating again – the red button must have been pressed when it hit the ground - he realised how ridiculous he was acting. He inched across the room and dubiously bent over so he could see the ID. France, again.

The other couldn't get at him through the mobile though, right?

Then again, it _was _France…

'Yes?' he said, once he'd realised he currently looked like he was scared of France. Pfft, like that would ever happen.

'_You wound me so! I am ready to cry a river full of tears! Does our love mean nothing to you?_'

'Not in the slightest.'

'_Oh, I feel so betrayed! I cannot take ze misery; I suppose I shall have to drink zese bottles by myself…_'

England tensed, 'Ah, let's not be so hasty old boy. You know how you get when you're drunk. Perhaps I should come over, and make sure you don't hurt yourself…' he hadn't got hammered at a bar for weeks due to all his work. His boss could wait one more day.

'_Non, non, you have broken my heart! I shall go find Prussia and we shall have a fabulous time drowning our sorrows,_' the other sniffed. England panicked.

'What was I supposed to think? When you normally ask someone to stay the night -' he broke off at the deep, rich laughter from the other end of the phone and scowled. Of course, France was screwing with him. However, the thought of alcohol… 'Where are you staying? I'll come join you once I've changed,' he eyed his crumpled shirt with disgust.

His sorry appearance was France's fault too.

France was still chuckling as he answered, '_That hotel we were in years ago._'

'That narrows it down so much, thank you.'

'_The one where Prussia and I fooled Spain into thinking the two Italys wanted to have a threesome, so he ran to their room only to get the wrong room and be chased and berated by that old woman,_' France said gleefully.

England snickered, 'Oh, that one. His face was as red as his tomatoes for weeks! Well, I'm on my way.'

'_Then __au revoir__, I shall count minutes until you arrive-_' England hung up before he could hear any more ridiculous comments.

He shook his head and got to his feet, stretching his back and wincing when it cracked. Only after he stopped did he realise his fairy friends had disappeared. He turned to his unicorn, who had settled faithfully beside his feet whilst he was on the phone and now looked at him expectantly.

'Do you know where they went?' he asked. The unicorn butted his hand. 'Ah, I see. I hope they aren't doing anything too bad to him…'

But little did he know just what his friends, who were sick of seeing him so hurt by America, would do.

**!DRAW A CIRCLE THERE'S THE EARTH!**

The three fairies were several miles away, in a McDonalds, watching the world superpower scoff down several burgers. Opposite him sat his brother, Canada, but it was as if the nation wasn't there at all – he certainly didn't have any of America's attention, anyway.

'What are you planning?' the red fairy asked, turning to her siblings. The other two didn't reply, too busy watching America.

'How can anyone eat so many hamburgers?' the blue fairy wondered with wide eyes.

'Well, if all he eats is junk it's no surprise that's what comes out,' the green fairy scowled and then moved to the meal on the table. Her plan was to mess with the food and scare the nation – they all knew about his fear of the supernatural – but he ate too fast for her to keep up. Put-out, she rejoined the other two.

'New plan!' the blue fairy shouted and she huddled together with the green.

The red fairy sighed and flew down, hovering in front of the blond's eyes and searching for something that would redeem himself. Her heart ached as he looked straight through her.

Those who do not believe cannot see, after all.

That was why she wasn't going to stop this unless it went too far. America had hurt her Dear One, the one who smiled at her, listened to her, when everyone else looked the other way. No matter how busy he was, he always made time for her. That was why, even though he had grown bitter and sad and at one point cruel, she would stay with him. All of her kind would.

He would always be theirs to cherish.

'I hope you come to your senses sooner rather than later,' she whispered, placing her hands on his nose. 'I may not like you but England does. Seeing you sad makes him sad, so, even though you hurt him…' America sneezed and her spirits rose. He had sensed her – not much, but it was something. He might have a chance.

'Oh relax, we won't hurt him,' the green fairy joined her. 'We're just going to give him a bit of humble pie.' The red fairy eyed her suspiciously but moved backwards.

Humble pie wasn't too bad, she supposed.

'England won't be happy if you hurt him!' she reminded.

'That's because he's a human as well as a nation and so blinded by his emotions,' the blue fairy pointed out as she, and the green fairy, settled on top of America's head and joined hands. 'It's nothing we haven't seen before. Love works in many ways,' she finished wistfully and then turned her attention to the spell.

The red fairy watched carefully and, upon recognising the spell building between their arms, relaxed. If it worked, the worst that could happen was some bruised American pride. Fae spells were tricky things.

Well, until America suddenly stood up and disrupted the two fairies.

They tumbled back, hands slipping apart and thus losing control of the half-formed spell. The red fairy gasped and moved, sending her magic at the pulsing mass in an attempt to dispel it. However, it had already grown too powerful to be dispelled by one fairy and instead expanded to encompass the two nations at the table. They froze, caught in the spell.

The blue and green fairies managed to regain their bearings and join her. They stared at each other for a moment, not sure what they should do. Chaotic magic was beyond their abilities.

And then a clock appeared, its hands slowly turning counter-clockwise, and they understood the consequences.

'England's going to be so mad,' the red fairy's hands covered her mouth, horrified.

'More than mad,' the blue one winced when America disappeared with a soft pop. 'There's probably nowhere we can hide once he finds out…'

'I'm not telling him!' the green fairy shouted, desperately trying to keep hold of Canada. It didn't do any good – the nation followed his brother, disappearing into thin air with another low pop. 'It isn't like it's our fault – magic does things you don't expect. England won't think just because we're fae we have control of it, right?' she turned to them.

The red fairy placed her hands on her hips and glared. She cowered.

After a long silence, the blue fairy flew up to the clock and read the date.

'Uh oh…'

'What?' they all crowded around the clock and, upon seeing the date, shared a guilty look. 'Well, we did say we wanted to teach him a lesson…' the green one said weakly. The red fairy shook her head, wondering how they were going to explain to England they'd sent his former colonies back to the sixteenth century.

Today, she decided, was _definitely_ a no-good very bad day.

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**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed the new, revised _A Trustworthy Pirate_! I re-read through this a few weeks ago and realised just how... rubbish it really was. I was such a n00b when I first started writing it. I couldn't bear the shame of keeping it this way any longer, so I started to re-write it. In comparison to what it was, I think it's bloody amazing - but I'm biased. Please read and review and tell me what you think. Also, if you're willing to beta this story please send a PM and I'll get back to you. Thanks for reading!


	2. Of Witches and Heroes

**A Trustworthy Pirate**

By xmystorytime

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia, the one to worship would be Hidekazu Himaruya. Please treat him carefully - you don't want him broken and incapable of creating more Hetalia, right?

* * *

America might be the most awesome nation to have ever existed, but even he couldn't avoid the side-effects of time travel.

He threw up all over the ground, staggered away from the mess and then collapsed against the first support he came across. He let out a whimper as the world spun even with his eyes shut. His head pounded so he pressed his hands to his temples but that didn't make it any better.

The next few minutes were hell, but eventually he felt half-way awesome and managed to get to his feet and take in his surroundings. For the first time, he noticed he was the recipient of many stares.

'Hey guys?' he waved, forcing a big smile, but the strangers just looked at each other. It was then he realised that these people, this place, didn't look anything like what he expected – that being, of course, the 21st century.

Wow, this was one weird dream.

It had started off alright – getting his daily intake of hamburger after reminding the other nations of how awesome he was – but now it was just… weird. One minute he'd been in McDonalds (with someone? No, he didn't think so…) and the next he was here. Wherever here was.

He frowned and scratched his head. He didn't think he'd ever been sick in a dream before, but there was a first time for everything.

'Yo!' he called to the nearest person, a young girl, who blanched. 'D'you know where I am?' the girl replied but it sounded like gibberish. 'Okay, great, now can you say that in English?' she said something else, but it didn't make any more sense. She looked rather annoyed when he continued to stare blankly at her and then pointed. America turned and let out a low whistle as he saw the most impressive, realistic castle he'd ever seen.

It towered over the tiny town (or port, maybe, judging by the salty smell). England's flag flew proudly above it, flapping away in the wind, and if he squinted he could just make out guards patrolling along the top wall in bright uniforms, while others look out the tiny slit in the wall.

Man, his imagination was fucking _awesome_.

Wait, England's flag?

'Eh? But I was just in America!' he exclaimed and then lightly whacked himself on the head. 'Why're we in England, buddy?' Of course, his head didn't reply. He sighed and turned back to the girl only to realise she'd gone and more people were watching him. They huddled together, whispering and pointing. He glanced down, but his clothes didn't look any different to normal. They were just intimidated by his awesomeness, then!

In that case he'd go easy on them – it took lots of people time to recover when they first noticed, after all. 'I'll see you guys around then!' he clapped his hands together and started down the road… path… thing (it didn't look like any road he knew…).

Except he hadn't been watching where he stepped (he hadn't thought he _needed _to) so he tripped over something soft and soggy. Being awesome, he managed to avoid falling on his face but when he turned around to see what he'd tripped over he turned green. Oh, man, how the hell had he managed to walk through a pile of crap? Why would anyone leave a pile of that stuff just lying in the middle of the road-y thing?

'Dudes, think of your hygiene!' he shouted to whoever was listening, shaking his left leg with a grimace. 'You don't just leave your shit around! Literally! Fuck…' the bottom of his trousers had turned a totally un-awesome brown and his previously bran'-spanking new shoes – ew… he needed to clean them, fast.

He'd thought stepping on dog shit was bad…

This was one of the worst dreams he'd ever had. Why did his imagination have to be so realistic, huh? Why couldn't it have just stuck to making the castles and stuff awesome and leave everything else?

'Wake up!' he slapped his cheeks, garnering more odd looks from the passersby. He looked at them, took in their dirty state and hurried pace, the white aprons and gaunt looks, and realised they looked a lot like those… really poor people in the past. If his mind had decided to make him dream about the past, why couldn't it have put him with nobles or even just something, you know, clean-ish?

Still, he was America. He would get through this weird ass dream, no problem!

He started down the road and covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve a moment later. His eyes watered as he gagged from the smell. It was like a combination of raw fish, shit and sick! God, he hadn't smelt anything this bad since – since ever! Why was no one else making a fuss?

To make matters worse, as he walked he noticed his beloved beige jacket was rapidly turning a grimy black. He tried to brush the dirt off, but only succeeded in covering his skin with the gunk.

How the hell was he getting so dirty? He'd deliberately avoided the sides of the road where people apparently threw out their shit.

'Okay, this isn't fun anymore!' he pinched himself but it did absolutely nothing, except hurt him a little. Apparently he pinched hard. Maybe he should try it out on someone, see if – no! No getting distracted! 'Okay America, you're a hero, this should be a cinch. What're your options?' he stopped in the middle of the street, forcing others to have to walk around him and shoot him annoyed looks.

He remained oblivious to them as he thought out-loud. 'I'm either dreaming, which means I've got to do something impressive before I can wake up, or… I've gone back in time. Which isn't a good thing to think about. Plus, impossible. Let's go with sleeping…' But, if he was dreaming then why was he in England? Why couldn't he understand a word of what anyone said? 'I need a translator,' he mused. 'Where's Google when you need it?'

'Possessed!' someone shouted.

'Huh?' he looked up.

'Witch! He was trying to cast a spell!' someone else shouted, and two things surprised America then. One, that they were speaking a form of English he'd never heard before. Two, he understood it – mostly.

'GOOGLE I LOVE YOU!'

In a time far far away, and certainly not thanks to Google, the fairies breathed a sigh of relief. One crisis averted.

'A witch? Where?' America spun on the spot, craning his neck to try and see the alleged witch, but instead the people in that direction ran away screaming. From him. 'You mean me?' he blinked, turning back to the accuser with a frown. 'I'm not a witch, I'm a hero!' he flapped his arms around. 'Say it with me! H-e-r-o…' he spelt out the word, but no one seemed to be listening.

'He's possessed by the devil! Run for your lives!'

And so America could only watch as, in a flash, the street emptied and he was left alone. He scratched his head and shrugged – maybe they'd been scared by his awesomeness?

Though, to be called a witch… did that mean he looked like a girl?

'DON'T LET THIS BE A DREAM WHERE I WAKE UP IN A DRESS OH GOD I CANT LOOK-' he dared to look down and, upon seeing his faithful bomber jacket and dark uniform and _no boobs_, he breathed a sigh of relief. Of course the shit stain was still there, but you know, when he could've had boobs…

Heart attack over, he shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking. He could smell the sea, which meant there was a place he could clean up. He hadn't been dreaming long – the sun hadn't moved at all in the sky – but he already felt filthier than he'd been crawling through trenches in the World Wars. Thankfully the bad stench was going (or was he just getting used to it?) so that was one small mercy.

This was one of the more ridiculous dreams he'd had and he'd hada _lot_. Had Prussia slipped him some drugs again? Was he actually in hospital and just hallucinating? That would explain why he couldn't wake…

Sadly, just smelling the sea didn't lead him right to it. Every street looked the same – grey, small and cramped with people running around doing their work. The only difference in the streets was when he spotted gutted fish mixed in with the crap on the streets, which he hoped meant he was getting closer to the dock.

Mostly, he was just wandering around hoping for the best. Seriously, why couldn't he have had one companion? This was so boring!

'There he is!'

'Get 'im!' he was seized before he knew what happened.

'Uh…' he blinked at the men blankly. What was he supposed to say? 'Top of the morning to you chaps!' he tried, doing his best English accent, but their expressions didn't change. Damn. 'Say, you good – fine! - fellows wouldn't mind not wielding those pointy things at me, now would you?' he eyed their knives with disgust. 'Man, they look pretty rusted…'

He wasn't scared, though. Once you'd seen a nuclear bomb, well, knives just didn't cut it.

Though just think of all the germs on there. Oozing and wriggling around and – and if it cut someone, think of the infection… he shuddered.

'Stop your talking or you'll get it!' the one who was holding him dug something sharp in his back.

America scowled and easily broke free. 'Hey, don't you know it's how un-heroic it is to attack a guy with his back to you?' he looked around and grimaced. There were at least a dozen people surrounding him. 'You don't know who you're messing with! If you value your lives, you should stay back! Or else-' he flailed for an effective threat. 'Or else I'll curse you! Yeah! I'm awesome with curses!'

Okay, so that was more England but they didn't need to know that.

The weakest of the group backed away, but that still left a lot of others. America glanced over his shoulder, hoping for an escape, but there was none. He really would have to fight them. Oh well, they couldn't be that tough…

'You asked for it!' he exclaimed, pointing his finger at them. 'I'm gonna -' and, in that moment, they struck. They grabbed his outstretched arm and twisted it back, quickly handcuffing it to the other before he could stop them. 'Aw, shit,' he lamented.

'Now you can't do your hocus pocus!' the attackers jeered. 'Try and curse us now, witch!'

'Stop with the witch thing, I already told you I'm a hero-' but, with his arms in the awkward position, defending himself became much harder.

He ducked a blow and kicked a guy in the stomach, sending him back into a few barrels and spilling the alcohol everywhere. He bit the next hand that came near his face and managed to tackle the bulkiest of the lot with his shoulder, landing on the floor. The others piled on top of him and, suddenly trapped, he could only watch with dismay as one raised his arm with something hard and clobbered him on the head.

America went out like a light. The men got off him with triumphant smiles and tied him up, before one slung him over a shoulder.

'I'll take 'im to the authorities, two pence he's tried by dawn,' he bet.

'Tonight,' his friend said, holding out his hand, and they shook on it before the group split – half going with the captor, to make sure the witch didn't wake up and curse them all, and the other going to the pub.

They needed a stiff drink after that fuss, after all.

**!DRAW A CIRCLE THERE'S THE EARTH!**

For the second time that day, America woke up with a headache.

'Aw, you mean I haven't woke up yet?' he whined upon seeing his cell and shivered from a cold draft. 'Hey! Is anyone out there? Can I get a blanket or something 'cause… it's kind of cold…' he trailed off as it was obvious there was no one out there. It seemed they'd taken him here and abandoned him, which could mean a lot of things.

Right now, though, it meant he had time to try and find an escape. There was always a way out in these situations – he'd seen the movies. Plus, this was _his_ dream. He would definitely put a way out somewhere.

But first, he had to pee.

After he'd relieved himself (in the dark dampest corner so no one, imaginary or otherwise, could see his blush because _shit_ why wasn't there a loo?) he felt the damp stones and tried to wiggle them, but they wouldn't budge. He did find a finger-sized hole in one, however, that crumbled beneath his touch and became a hand-sized hole. He pulled his hand back and shook off the rubble, before going flat on his stomach and peering through the hole.

There was only black. He frowned and then jumped when the black thing moved.

'Hello?' he called. 'Is anyone there?' he didn't get a response. He pouted and tried again. 'Helloooo?' Maybe it was just an empty room? No, he'd seen something mo- oh shit. It was a ghost.

Oh man oh man oh man this was just his luck he would have a ghost in the cell behind shit what was he meant to do he – he –

'I've gone barmy,' a familiar voice declared faintly, and America's panic screeched to a halt. He brightened. Never before had he been so pleased to hear England's voice. Well, at least he thought it was England. It sounded a bit… younger than he remembered, if a voice could sound young when one was an adult because obviously as a child the voice sounded young.

'England! Thank fuck, I thought you were a ghost!' he shouted, looking back through the hole. 'Did you get called a witch too?' he heard some shuffling and then, on the other side of the hole, came a bushy eyebrow. America yelped and scrambled backwards. 'Dude, warn a guy first!'

'Who are you?' England demanded, his voice cold. America blinked. 'How do you know me by that name?'

'Eh, what're you talking about?' he replied. 'You told me!'

'I certainly did _not_. I remember all whom I tell and I don't believe we're acquainted, let alone familiar enough for me to reveal something like that,' the other nation said. America was silent as he translated it into English.

'_Oh_… but, I'm America! I'm the most awesome guy you know!' he exclaimed. 'You can't forget me!'

'It's not a matter of _forgetting _-' but America wasn't listening. How could England, of all people, not know who he was? He had raised him, he cried over him every year on his birthday, he bickered and hated and… he frowned and then it hit him.

'It's okay!' he reassured. 'You've just been in this cell so long you've lost your memory. It's a good thing this hero came along, huh?' he would rescue England and they would make an awesome escape, and then England would remember him and America would succeed in his mission and wake up (or the doctors would have finally got the drugs out of his system, depending).

He jumped to his feet to continue finding a way out, ignoring the confusion of his fellow nation, only to promptly trip over a chain he hadn't noticed before.

'That's odd,' he murmured, sitting upright and following it to one end – the wall. He followed it the other way and found it connected to his ankle. 'Euston, we have a problem,' he muttered. Still, he was a hero. He couldn't let a small thing like being chained stop him!

How did it go in the movies?

He twisted and took hold of his chain. He would just have to pull it out the wall – no sweat!

America pulled backwards, he pulled at various angles, he even tried to pull at it low and high (barely, and spending a few minutes clutching his precious jewels because he'd crushed them after failing at the splits) but the chain didn't budge.

'Shit, how strong is this thing?' he groaned, glaring at the chain. This was his dream, right? Shouldn't that mean what he wanted he got? 'Alright, I get it. Screw you, chain, screw you.'

He tried pulling it one more time and felt something shift. Hope restored, he pulled harder. Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, getting louder every second, but he ignored them in favour of feeling the chain buckle under his grip. 'Just… a bit… more…' he grunted. There was some shouting from England but he ignored it – it wouldn't be that important, after all.

The chain came loose just as his cell door opened. Suddenly free, America tumbled back into whoever had just entered and the whole group tumbled to the floor. There was probably some cursing, but it was drowned out by the sound of bricks collapsing.

'Hell _yes_!' America cheered. 'I'm just that awesome!' he jumped to his feet and brushed at his clothes. He was a free man again! "England, you there?' he peered through the dust. As the mess cleared, he could see an identical cell on the other side and someone's silhouette. America's jaw dropped once he saw their appearance – he'd seen enough movies to know what a pirate looked like. 'Dude, no way! You get to be a pirate?'

'What the – did you just knock down the wall?' England demanded, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair and shaking out the dirt, which coincidentally drew America's attention to his eye patch. 'Who are you?'

The younger nation shook himself out of his daze. 'I'm your hero!' he said proudly, but he couldn't silence the voice at the back of his mind chanting 'he has an eye patch England has an eye patch and he looks _good _how the hell does he and why don't _I _get an eye patch?'

And then people tackled him from behind, ruining his fantastic scene.

'Aha! None of yer witchcraft'll help you now,' America had, once more, been handcuffed and tied up.

'Seriously, what is _with _you people and handcuffs? Is it some kind of kink from the French ancestry?' Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say. They looked like he couldn't have said anything more insulting if he'd tried. Right, they _were_ English...

At least this time he got the honour of kicking and managed to get a very satisfying crack when his foot hit a nose.

'Bloody -' the man gasped, hands trying to stem the blood.

'Get him out of here!' another shouted and so America was dragged out the cell and down the hallway, where they took advantage of his limp state to tie some rope around him.

The cold ground scraped his skin and he winced, scrabbling for something to grab onto but only breaking a few nails. This seriously had to be the most realistic dream he'd ever had. Oddest, too. England was a pirate. Of course he probably wasn't a good one – he was too uptight and a spoilsport and grumpy, after all, but he'd looked good.

The men dragged the American out a door and his chin hit a step.

'Ow!' his chin hit another step. 'Ow! Ow, ow, ow…' and so began a litany of 'ow's for each step they went up – and there were a _lot_. They travelled up a winding staircase and it was just when America began to worry he might get brain damage that they reached the top. He was greeted with a reddening sky, and he wondered how long he'd been unconscious.

Though, the fact he'd been knocked out for a few hours by a _human_ was rather embarrassing to think about…

Something flapped in the wind. He twisted his head, recognising the flag earlier. Realising he was in the castle, he turned to look at the two dragging him.

'So, where're we going?' he asked, and then caught sight of the view. The sea glistened awesomely from atop the awesome castle walls that his imagination had crafted, and the waves crashing on the rocks sounded awesomely fierce, and seagulls wailed and the fresh sea air helped clear his head after all the bashing earlier.

'… tried,' one of the men was saying.

'Oh, is that all?' America blinked as the words sank in. 'Wait, but I'm not a witch! I'm a hero! You don't put heroes on trial!'

'Don't try to trick us!' the other guy snarled, kicking him in the stomach. America swore loudly. 'You lot are all the same – distracting us with words and then, when we're not looking, killing and taking off… that's what they all do.'

The nation sighed and let them drag him to wherever his destination was. He was going to be tried, huh? Well, they had no evidence so he wouldn't be found guilty and then – hopefully – that would be the pivotal moment and he would wake up. Although, being found guilty and then hung or something seemed more likely to be the end of the dream… he didn't really want to die though, even if it was just a dream…

A group of people caught his eye. They were dressed up in fancy ruffles and curly hats, and America didn't bother to hide his laughter. Seriously, who wore that stuff anymore? Someone pulled him upright and held him there, in front of the group. The one at the front cleared his throat.

'Foreigner,' his lip curled in disgust. 'You have been accused of witchcraft. How do you plead?'

'Not guilty,' but America couldn't stop a snigger. They even had the accent down to pact. The noble's face darkened.

'Do I amuse you, boy?' he questioned.

'Nope,' the nation grinned and looked around. They were quite high up. 'Nice place you got here,' he added on, admiring the walls. It had looked awesome from a distance, but it was even awesomer up close. His imagination was pretty sweet to come up with something like this. It would be even sweeter, though, if he would wake up _any time now please and thank you!_

'Thank you. Now, who here claims they saw him practising the taboo?' the noble raised his voice and turned. For the first time, America noticed the villagers in the courtyard below, watching the proceedings. Most of them raised their hands, hatred in their eyes, and the noble nodded. 'Foreigner, the majority is against you. However, let it not be said the English are not merciful,' he smirked.

America breathed a sigh of relief, 'Good! 'Cause I'm telling ya, I was getting worried -'

'To prove your innocence, we will tie a stone to you and throw you out to sea.'

'- land does pretty nasty things and – wait, what?'

'If you float, we will know you are a witch,' the noble raised an eyebrow. 'Do you have any questions?'

'Hell _yes!_ How does that even work? I'll sink whatever and then I'll be dead, and what, you'll go 'oh I guess he was innocent, whoops!' and just continue your lives?' America's jaw dropped. That was pretty fucked up stuff. England was more of a sadist than he'd realised. 'I wasn't even doing anything!'

'He was muttering nonsense to himself! No one understood the words, but afterwards he made people run away with just a glance! That has to be a curse!'

'Who called American nonsense? I'll kick your ass!' America snapped, glaring down at the crowd. 'Plus, that other thing just means you're a coward! I didn't do anything!'

'There's no such thing as American – I say he's a spy for the French!' the chorus of gasps would have been funny at any other time. Except, this time America was being faced with sinking or sinking, and he didn't really want to sink at all, preferably. Could he even drown, being a nation? Or would drowning wake him up? 'I bet that's why his accent is so bad! Get rid of him already!' Though, being called a spy for the French just based on his American accent was just insulting.

'You people are crazy!' he shouted.

'He's clearly a foreigner. Whether or not he's a bloody French spy, let's just throw him to the rocks and be done with it!' this cry got the most support.

This was so_ stupid_, didn't they know how a real trial worked? You had to give the accused a chance to defend themselves and schedule it all in, and there was usually several months – even years! – to come to a final decision. Yet it was near evening now, which meant it hadn't even been a day, and he was already being sentenced to death for something he didn't even do? He didn't get another chance to plead his case. The people who had dragged him across the walls of this fort grabbed hold of him again and took him to the edge of the wall.

As an awesome hero he most definitely wasn't scared when he saw the waves crashing on the rocks. He especially wasn't scared of being dashed to bits. Heroes weren't scared of anything!

'Don't let him escape!'

A loud commotion on the other side of the walls interrupted what would've been America's bloody death, much to his relief. He turned and, after taking a moment to register what was occurring, cheered loudly. England the Pirate darting along the wall, pursued by a large amount of guards.

What made it more awesome was that he'd recaptured his hat.

'Kirkland's escaped, sir!' a young teenager skidded to a halt in front of the nobles, gasping for air. America beamed. He had no idea why England was a pirate but, yanno, it was definitely England. Kirkland was his human name whenever he couldn't use England to introduce himself… which was quite often. Of course, Arthur Kirkland wasn't as awesome a name as Alfred F Jones.

'Yes, I can see that!' the noble who had been sentencing America to death seconds before growled as the rest drew their swords. 'How?'

'S-somehow, the wall his chain was on was destroyed and -' America ignored the kid and cheered England on. Whether this was a dream or not, England's escape was pretty epic. Despite hitting a dead end the pirate didn't panic; he merely turned around, stepped onto the tiny ledge and then jumped from shoulder to shoulder (grabbing a sword on his way through) until he was on the other side and heading in America's direction.

Dude, he hadn't even thought that was possible outside of movies.

'That was awesome man!' he shouted over the clatter of metal and cursing. England glanced at him and then smirked. Oh, damn, he looked kind of scary like that…

'He's coming this way! What should we do?'

'Stand and fight! He's only one man!'

America's glee drained out of him and he looked between the shiny, sharp items and the approaching pirate. England was going to get hurt if he didn't do something quickly! In one swift movement, America quickly broke the handcuffs – they just didn't make them as well as they used to – and grinned. It was payback time.

'You think you can stop me?' the pirate did some kind of jumpy-twisty-turny thing and landed next to America, using his stolen sword to cut through the ropes binding America.

Oh, yeah… he'd forgotten about them.

'Aha! Now it's _really _payback time!' he crowed and swiftly punched the two who had dragged him across the stone. His chin still hurt, damn it. 'Take that!' they staggered back and one fell over the edge with a scream; the other knocked into two others and sent them to the ground. England glanced at him curiously.

'You might actually be useful,' he muttered.

America beamed, 'Well, I am a hero!'

They were soon surrounded and he gulped at seeing so many swords pointing at him. Fists didn't really work against metal. England didn't look at all worried, though, but then again bastard had a sword.

'You can be anything you wish, but first we need an escape. Are you with me?' America flinched when one of the men swung his sword at him, but England moved forward half-a-step and the two swords clanged together. While the attacker was off balance, England stole his sword and threw the original stolen one at America. 'Look sharp lad!' he laughed as the nation fumbled, but finally held the sword correctly and pointed it at their enemies.

'Aha, now we're even!' he declared, ignoring the fact he didn't know how to use a sword. It couldn't be _that _hard.

'I said, are you with me?' England asked again and America yelped, narrowly avoiding being sliced on the arm. Sweat trickled down his brow as he flailed his sword in every direction, whacking away the ensuing hits.

'I'm with you! I'm with you!" he squeaked, though he would deny it later.

England shot him a wolfish grin, 'Then let's go matey,' and with that, the pirate cut them an exit and darted off. The guards that had been chasing England earlier were finally arriving and, combined with the original nobles, they all looked like a foe America shouldn't take on alone – so he followed England, but only because England might get in trouble if he didn't have any awesomeness with him!

He hadn't the faintest idea where they were going, but England appeared to. He didn't hesitate when it came to the twisting stairs and winding corridors. He was fantastic with a sword too; it was like an extension of his arm.

The same couldn't be said of America.

He kept forgetting he _had_ a sword, so several times he'd almost hit England with it ('Watch it you dimwit!') or got it stuck in the wall. So maybe it wasn't as easy as the video games made it look. He had a memory of getting his sword stuck in a wall in those games, too, but he'd assumed that was just a glitch…

Of course, the most curious thing was that England's hat hadn't once blown off. He had to learn that trick!

'Here we go,' England stated, halting in front of a thick oak door. He tried the handle but it was locked. 'Can I trust you to deal with the landlubbers while I deal with this?' he glanced at America. Said nation stared back. What was a landlubber again? The pirate made an irritated noise and nodded to the guards that had just appeared at the end of the hallway. In a flash, America realised what the other had meant.

'Oh! Yeah, it's cool, I can do that.' It was finally time to be a hero. This was what he'd been waiting for the whole time, the chance to show his moves and prove that he could be just as awesome as England right now. Besides, how unfair was it that this was his dream and _England_, of all people, was cooler than him? He should be the best!

He pointed his sword at the incoming guards.

'Avast, me hearties!' he shouted in his best pirate accent – which was heavily based on _Pirates of the Caribbean_. 'Back or I'll slice off yer heads off!' he waved the sword at them. They halted, watching him wearily.

'Kill the foreigner but keep Kirkland alive! He's wanted by Her Majesty!' the leader of the group ordered.

America blinked, 'Dude, you're wanted by your _Queen_? What did you do?'

'It's not what you think,' England replied, grunting as he fiddled with the lock.

'Whatever, don't worry – I won't let them get you!' he spotted the guard whose nose he had broken earlier, glaring daggers, and glared back at him. 'I'll give 'em a taste of true American medicine!' He was going to show them all what happened when you messed with a hero.

'Bingo!' England managed to get the door open, and so America didn't get the chance to prove just how awesome Americans were because the other nation grabbed the scruff of his neck and hauled him through the open door. He slammed it shut behind them and then bolted it with his sword.

America stared mournfully at it. 'But… but I didn't even get a chance to show my stuff!' he wailed. 'I had it all planned out and everything!' the door bulged suddenly and he yelped, stepping backwards.

'Idiot!'

Only England's hand on his arm stopped him from tumbling back into the sea. 'We can't have you heading for Davy Jones just yet, can we lad?' England stabilised him and then let go, and America did _not_ have the sudden urge to cling to him again. He gulped, staring down at the steep drop. Where England had taken them didn't look any different to where he'd been awhile ago.

Rocks, sea, a nasty fall – oh yes, this was familiar indeed.

'Dude, what're you doing?' he demanded. England shrugged one shoulder and hopped onto the small edge that inched around the outside of the fort, looking like he did it every day.

'Do you trust me?' he questioned.

'No!'

'Good lad,' England smirked. America swallowed. He'd seen England's smirks before – they were fleeting, of course, though not as rare as an actual smile – but they'd looked nothing like this. There was a sparkle in his one emerald eye that thrived on danger and, as the wind whipped around them and sent both hair and clothes all over the place, he had a manic, dangerous air.

But England… could never be that scary, right? England was just a stuffy old man who couldn't cook and knitted and spent his hours arguing with France... right?

The door bulged again and the sword bent dangerously. America swore before clambering onto the ledge after Not-England and followed him. He moved just in time because the guards burst through the next second, but couldn't follow them due to their bulky clothing.

The one in charge shouted something about heading to the other side, but America didn't hear because he was too busy trying not to lose his balance and plunge to a bloody death.

Seriously, this dream should have ended a long time ago. Why hadn't it ended?

'Here's the spot!' Not-England stopped and turned so his back was to the wall and his front faced the open sea. For a moment, there was a wistful look on his face, but it disappeared so quick America wondered if he imagined it. Not-England turned and held out his hand, whilst the other went to hold his hat to his head. 'Are you ready?'

'… For what?' America eyed the hand dubiously. It was dirty and calloused – another sign this wasn't England. England would never let himself stay so dirty.

'To jump of course,' the other scoffed. 'What did you think we were going to do?' America looked between the pirate and the sea and then blanched.

'You're _not _serious. I know you want to keep up with my awesomeness, but seriously, this is _not _a good idea because hello, rocks? Smashing? Dying?' he babbled, hoping to convince Not-England that this was an extremely bad idea. 'Look, we're nations so we can survive a lot but that doesn't mean we should -'

Not-England scowled, 'I _still _want to know how you know about that…' he shook his head and sighed. 'Look, you can jump with me or you can continue on this ledge to its end where you'll meet a bloody death. Which'll it be?'

The way he looked at America made him feel like a kid again, looking up at Big Brother England after another scary story. He would always look like he didn't know whether to be amused or exasperated and settled for a combination of both. It was truly a trademark England look – no one else combined condescension and amusement so well.

But it was also different – there was a challenge in his eyes, daring him to prove he wasn't a coward and hell, a hero could never be accused of being a coward.

'Screw you!' he snapped, taking hold of Not-England's hand. The pirate's smirk widened.

'Smartly now lad!' and then he jumped. Without warning. Their linked hands meant America was yanked away from the wall to go with him, and then they were falling and the salty wind was stinging on their faces and making his eyes water and he couldn't help it, he screamed.

And then they hit the water.

* * *

**A/N:** Here's the second revised chapter of _A Trustworthy Pirate_. It's actually not all that different to the original draft, but I hope it's better written. The biggest change is taking out where America calls England 'Iggy' and human names because, actually, America rarely calls England that in the actual manga itself. Likewise, human names aren't ever actually used. However, IMO, you can't just have someone running around parliament calling themselves the country, right? So, the human names are used to hide their real names.

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, please, or if you spot any mistakes. Also, how am I doing for humour? I'm not that good at it, so if there's anything that doesn't work please tell me, and why. Thank you for reading! :3

* * *

**Explanations and Shit: **so I figured that, uh, there might be some explanations necessary.

1) The human feces... well, there was no sewers or anything, so where else would it go? Likewise with the loo. There's no modern plumbing, so... corner it is. :3  
2) The reason why America's jacket goes black is because of all the grime on the streets that's clinging to him. He's not used to it so he notices it, but because everyone else has lived in it all their lives they don't notice it. The same with the smell.  
3) People were very superstitious in those times. Anything abnormal and, well, you're screwed. Generally, whilst it was done, sinking with a stone to test their innocent wasn't the regular punishment at the time. The usual method was hanging - only the important got beheaded. Oh, they also hated foreigners - a lot. Especially the French and the Spanish. Probably the Dutch, too. But we like the Portuguese - got a 600-odd year treaty with them, ha.  
4) French ancestry... 1066. Nuff said.


	3. Of Pirates and Grog

**A Trustworthy Pirate**

_By xmystorytime_

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia, the one to worship would be Hidekazu Himaruya. Please treat him carefully - you don't want him broken and incapable of creating more Hetalia, right?

* * *

Ow.

England winced as he got to his feet, his whole body aching from the abuse he'd just put it through. He hadn't had a choice, of course, but that didn't mean it wouldn't complain. The nation exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, grimacing as he felt soggy strands clump together – disgusting. He shook his head and then glanced around him, inspecting the area.

The sea water lapped on the stone, murky and ominous in the faint light of the moon. There was no light in the passage, but that didn't matter. He was more worried about how much time had passed. The guards wouldn't stop trying to find him just because of a little dive in the sea, not when he was wanted by the Queen.

After a half-hearted attempt at making himself presentable, he started for the exit. It was as he adjusted his hat so the water droplets would run off his clothes and not down his neck that he heard the low moan.

He froze for a long moment, holding his breath.

'What… I've _still _not woken up yet?' a bratty voice – with the oddest accent England had ever heard - muttered and he relaxed, pressing a hand to his chest to try and steady his racing heart. He'd forgotten all about his new companion. 'Where am I? Why's it so dark?' there was a sudden gasp, 'England! No, Not-England! He's not here!' and then a thud and a long silence before a quiet, 'My fucking head… ow…'

For a long moment, the pirate debated whether he should reveal himself however he couldn't, in good conscience, just leave the lad after dragging him down here with him.

'We're in a path 'neath the castle,' he answered, wincing when he heard the other squawk and tumble back into the water with a loud splash, and then watched the other's silhouette crawl back out the water. 'Can you walk? We should go afore they come looking,' he continued, though he made no move to help the other.

'You're still a pirate, England?' the man asked slowly, as if he couldn't believe it.

England scowled, 'Is there a problem with that?'

'N-no! No! Well, a little because it makes you so badass and you really shouldn't be because you stitch and shit in your spare time-' a twitch began in England's eye. He didn't understand much of what the other said, but he got the gist of it. '- but, you know – fuck, my head really hurts…' he whimpered, doubling over, and England glanced away, scratching his chin sheepishly.

'Sorry 'bout that,' he muttered. 'S'prolly from when your head hit the gate… several times…'

Well, it hadn't been England's fault the coward had fainted upon hitting the water. Really, he should just be grateful England had even dragged him with him and not left him to drown. It was a tight squeeze for one, let alone two.

'Damn it, I've never been this messed up in a dream before and not woke up,' the other whinged, a hand pressed to his head, and England blinked.

'A… dream?' he repeated slowly.

'Yeah, y'know, when you sleep and you end up in a really wacky world -'

'I know what a dream is!' he snapped. 'I just don't understand why you think you're in one!' he paused. Well, he'd known who England was, so maybe he thought he was dreaming because he'd met England? Was it his dream to meet the nation and, now he was here and had experienced such a rush, he couldn't believe it? The pirate puffed his chest up in pride.

'Because this – this shouldn't be real!' the other replied, sounding frantic. 'Like, this is super mega impossibly not possible!' his voice rose as he continued and echoed around them.

England darted forward and pressed a hand over his mouth. 'Shh, do you want them to find us?' he demanded, and then swore when a tongue came out and linked his palm. He flinched back, but was consoled when he saw the other gagging.

'Ugh, so dirty…' the other hissed.

'Then you shouldn't lick someone's hand,' he rolled his eyes. 'Now come on, before the guards find us. We have to escape.' He turned his back on the other and started to walk away.

'Wait!' a hand reached out and grabbed his arm tightly. 'Don't leave me!' the pure terror in the other's voice was a surprise and England half-turned, both eyebrows raised as he gazed at the other. He could just make out the other's pleading expression and something in his chest tugged. What was this… feeling? Why did he feel so… 'It's so dark and scary down here, what if there's ghosts?'

And the feeling popped, being replaced by irritation. He tried to free his arm but the other whimpered and only held tighter.

'There's no such things as ghosts, brat,' he snapped. 'Especially not down here. There are rats, of course, but everywhere has rats-' he stopped when he realised his words weren't reassuring the other. 'What did you say your name was again?' he asked, trying another tactic.

'… You should know,' the other muttered petulantly, but before England could snap back he lifted his head. 'America.' Well, that was a name he hadn't heard before.

One more question on the list of who this man was.

'Well then, _America_,' he murmured, making his tone smooth and sultry. It was the same tone he'd used to convince his Queen he was the ideal candidate of a privateer; it never failed to charm people. 'I promise you there are _no_ ghosts down here,' he shifted closer, never losing eye-contact with the wide blue – blue as the endless oceans he adored so much – eyes, 'but if there is, well, it's common knowledge ghosts are scared of pirates, savvy?'

He flicked the other's nose, smug when he noticed he'd succeeded in calming the other, and then turned and began to lead the way through the dark. The death grip on his arm loosened, thankfully, and for a few blessed moments there was silence.

Ignoring the flinches and the quickly-stifled screams of terror whenever there was a noise like, oh, England _breathing_, anyway.

'You… really don't know who I am?' the other asked suddenly, a little desperately. Probably trying to distract himself. 'Like -' England hissed at him and he lowered his voice. 'Like, you don't know me at all?'

'Maybe you'd care to enlighten me, then, if it's so important to you.'

'Huh?'

The nation sighed as he led them around a corner. 'Who are you, lad? I've naught heard of America as a name before, nor do I recognise your accent. You speak my language in a strange way, you dress in the oddest clothes… and yet, you know who I am – who I _truly _am,' he paused. 'And you claim to know me, though we've never met before…'

'We have met before though!' the other protested. England gritted his teeth. Hadn't he just established they _hadn't_? 'But, you know… maybe it's… I think it might be complicated…' he trailed off. 'You're positive this isn't a dream?'

'_Yes_.'

'Like, really, positively, hugely 150 percent sure?'

He growled, 'I don't like repeating myself, boy!'

Not for the first time, he cursed his insatiable curiosity. No matter how irritating the other was, he would never be able to ditch him until he'd uncovered everything there was to know. And, of course, it was his duty to stay with the other and make sure he didn't inform others of England's status as… England. That was top-secret information. Technically, for knowing it, America could be executed with just one order from him…

'Okay okay! Sheesh,' the other grumbled and there was a long pause. 'Just one more thing, though, uh… what time is this?' England blinked. What sort of question was that? 'Uh, you know, what year. Please. 'Cause it's really kind of probably important and – yeah…'

Shouldn't he already _know_ the date? '1588,' England replied slowly. There was a long silence.

'Yeah, it's complicated,' America stated and then the other was nearly swamped by the sudden deluge of swears. 'This is _not_ good, not good at all! Oh man how the fuck am I going to get myself outta this-'

… Maybe those hits to the head had done some permanent damage.

Deciding it was better to let America get it out, whatever it was he had to get out, England occupied himself by searching for the exit. It should be pretty soon… It sure was taking a long time to get out, now that he thought about it. He put that down to having an irritating clingy thing on his arm. How did he get himself into these situations?

'- video games!' the other took an exaggerated breath and, in that moment, England spotted the exit. He halted, letting out an 'oomph' when America hit him. 'Hey, why'd you stop?' Well, at least he'd stopped panicking.

'We're near the exit,' he whispered, pressing up against the damp wall and tugging America next to him, ignoring the quiet whisper of 'thank fucking god 'cause those ghosts, man, they were just _nasty_'.

He waited, listening for any voices that might indicate there were guards outside waiting for them.

'Dude, why haven't we moved yet? Freedom is, like, right _there_,' America hissed.

'I know that ye bilge rat!' he smacked the other's head, ignoring the question of what a bilge rat was. 'I'm checking the coast is clear.' Wait, should he do that or would it just make the other's brain damage worse? But, if anything, America looked reassured by the hit – like it was something he'd expected.

'Well, if it isn't then I'll _make _it clear,' the other stated. England blinked.

'But, the guards -'

'I can handle them!'

'Because you were doing so well before,' he muttered, but the idiot appeared to have super hearing. He poked England's shoulder and _ow_, that had actually hurt a little.

'They caught me by surprise. I won't go so easy on them next time!' he pumped his fist to his palm. 'You just wait and see – I'll teach them for messing with a hero!' the pirate rolled his eyes. He was pretty certain now there were no guards at the entrance, otherwise they'd have been alerted by America's loud mouth, but it seemed the same thought hadn't crossed the other. 'I'm gonna go out there and deal with 'em.'

And, just like that, he'd gone on ahead up the steps and ran out the exit with some kind of war cry.

England took his time, reaching the exit just in time to see America crash into a wall. He snorted, a hand clapping over his mouth, as he watched the other land flat on his back.

'Fuck…' the taller groaned, opening his eyes and blinking up at England. The nation raised an eyebrow.

'Yes, you took care of them quite nicely,' he smirked and then looked around. He was rather grateful it was the middle of the night – had it been daytime, they probably would have drawn a crowd. America was rather loud. However, there was no one around… though he knew that wouldn't last long.

His face darkened. This was the worst part of the port, and the perfect place to hide because of it. Excrement filled the streets, rubbish littered on top, and often the carcass of some animal. Then there were the people; those who couldn't afford to live anywhere else, the outlaws, the bandits. If you couldn't protect yourself, you'd be dead by morning.

America got to his feet but had taken off his jacket and was trying to wipe something off it with a disgusted look. 'Where the fuck are we?' he grumbled. 'This place is disgusting…'

'You don't know?' England frowned. How could he not know? Granted, the Cinque Ports were losing their importance, but one still _knew_ about them. If he didn't know where he was – why was he here at all?

'Uh, no?' the look he gave England made it seem like the nation was the one acting ridiculous. 'Seriously, one sec I was in McDonalds and then next BAM! I was here!' he snapped his fingers. 'Then everyone was all 'OH NO A WITCH-'

'Keep your voice down!' the pirate hissed. America shot him a disgruntled look. '… Where did you say you grew up again?' the other brightened and a sparkle came to his eyes. Wherever it was, he obviously loved it.

'United States of Mother Fucking America, dude!' he exclaimed, pointing his finger at England. The nation worriedly glanced around them. 'And don't you forget it!'

'I've never heard of it,' he replied, still keeping an eye on the corners.

America wilted. 'Seriously? I'm that far back?' he exhaled and then blanched. 'Shit, that's not good! If America doesn't exist then – then why do I exist? Maybe – no, wait – shit, damn it, I dunno what to do! How do I get home?' he ran a hand through his hair. 'Fuck, this is – man, this isn't awesome. Not awesome man!'

Oh dear, he was starting to panic again.

Unfortunately, England didn't get a chance to get him to shut up because the idiot's rambling had attracted some rather… unsavoury characters. He glanced down at his clothes and sighed. It was a pity he'd been locked up in the cells for a few days so he didn't look his most presentable. They wouldn't have _dared_ approach if they knew who he was.

'Ahoy lads!' he called, easily slipping into the slurred dialect befitting a pirate.

'Oy, what y'doing?' the group of three swaggered up. England subtly moved to stand in front of the idiot, who was still too busy panicking to notice the men.

'Jus' standin',' he replied.

'Yeh? Well stan' elsewhere! Makin' a fuss…' one of the men shoved him. England stumbled back and then scowled, drawing himself up to his full height. They still towered over him, but, as most people did, he had learnt how to use it to his advantage. He had the additional advantage of being sober, too, although he didn't intend to remain that way much longer.

'An what if I don', mateys?' he replied, a cocky smirk on his lips.

'We'll make you!' and so the fight began.

He ducked the first punch and easily knocked out the drunken man, before ducking a swipe of a knife by the other. He hissed when it skimmed his arm but didn't stop, instead wrestling with him to try and get the weapon. The third man jumped into the fray then, however, and sent all of them to the ground.

'England!' and then America was yanking him free of the pile with a worried look. 'You okay?'

'Watch it!' England threw his body weight against America, out of the way of the blade. Their attacker stumbled, his liquor acting against him, and then England struck.

A swift kick to the arm allowed him to steal the knife, and then in one movement he had bashed the handle over the man's head. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious, and then only the third man was left. England turned to him with a smirk, and made a beckoning motion with his fingers. Enraged, the third man rushed forwards – and it was pathetically easy to dodge, punch him in the stomach and send him to the ground.

The male groaned, clutching his stomach for only a few seconds before throwing up over the street.

'Ridiculous,' England huffed. He could hardly believe they dared to call themselves English citizens. 'Bloody blaggards,' he grumbled and turned back to America, blinking when he took in the wide-eyed stare. 'Yes?'

Slowly, America's head went between the unconscious men and England, before settling on the knife in his hand. 'Y-you took them out. The fuck – it was like a 1 hit KO! You can't do that!' he looked as if he'd had the rug pulled out from underneath him. England raised an eyebrow, wondering what a '1 hit KO' was.

'Why can't I, lad?' he smirked, drawing the bloody knife up to his lips and darting his tongue out, as if to lick it.

'Don't do that!' America squawked, suddenly ripping the knife out of England's hand and flinging it away. England stared. 'Think of the germs! The health! You're England! You don't – you don't _do _this kind of stuff!'

The nation sighed and rubbed his forehead. 'Just who have you been listening to?' he wondered.

For some odd reason, America appeared to already have a perception of him in his mind and, given they had never met before now, the only explanation was that someone had put it there – and he had inkling he knew who.

The pirate glowered at America as he heard the bastard's 'ohonhonhonhon' laugh fill his ears. Obviously, France was a bit distracted with home events to come and irritate England personally so he'd sent this poor lad in his place. He must have taken great pleasure in portraying England as someone who – what was it? – 'stitched and shit'.

'Uh, England?'

After all, there _had _been rumours of a French man running around the town, womanising the ladies and stealing goods and generally pissing England off anyway.

'Please stop glaring at me you're kinda scary…'

A satisfied smirk crossed his face and he barely heard the squeak from his companion. He wouldn't give France the satisfaction of getting one over – instead, he'd use the lad to beat France at his own game. That meant, of course, pretending to go along with this idiot's ploy for now.

That wouldn't be too hard. He was willing to put up with a lot to get one over on France.

'Well, lad, what d'ye intend to do now?' he asked, and America jumped.

'Huh?'

'Where're ye gonna head now?' England elaborated, resisting a sigh. 'Ye can't just stay here, the guards'll find ye soon enough…'

'I – go?' America repeated, paling. 'I don't – there isn't -' he floundered and then his shoulders slumped. 'I don't have anywhere…' He was quite the actor, England mused. If he didn't now know this was a ploy to remain with England, and thus further France's ambitions, he might be convinced.

'Everyone's go' somewhere, even if it's jus' to Davy Jones,' England replied. 'What abou' yer home?'

At that, the other looked even more miserable. 'Trust me, I would if I could, but…' he shook his head. 'It's not around right now.' England raised an eyebrow but decided it was plausible – that his home was no longer, that is. The kind of misery America showed was one he'd seen quite often in his lifetime, as legitimate as they came. 'Hey, you're into fairies and magic and crap, right? So if I told you something really weird you'd believe me, right?'

The nation took a step back at the intense look he got from the other. 'Ah…' he floundered, for once unsure how to respond. It seemed France had told him more than he'd expected – the bastard. 'Tell me, an' I'll tell ye whether I do or not.'

'Okay…' America took a deep breath. 'I'm from the future.' He delivered it with a straight face.

England snorted before he could stop himself. 'Good one, lad, now what was i'?' he raised an eyebrow.

'I'm telling the truth!' America exclaimed, glaring, and England was suddenly reminded of where they were. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache begin. This was sure to be one hell of a tale. He might as well hear it out – if nothing else, it would provide him with a bit of amusement.

'Well, if we're gonna be dealing with the obscure,' he drawled, adjusting his hat just so, 'we need a drink to go with i'.'

'Huh?'

'If ye wish to convince me, lad, yer'll have more luck when I've got a drink in me hand, savvy?' he smirked and started walking. When he didn't hear movement behind him, he glanced over his shoulder. 'Well? Ain't ye coming?'

Looking unsure just what was happening, America hastened to catch up with him. England scrutinised him. Although he looked like a grown man, he also had an aura that screamed 'innocence personified' – as if he didn't yet know the harshness of the world. England was almost… sad he would be the one to destroy it, but it didn't do to leave one so ignorant to the world.

Still, that he was…

'I dunno whether to praise who raised ye, or scold 'im,' he mused aloud.

'Praise,' America said quickly. Too quickly. England shot him a curious look. 'Seriously, it would be weird if - just… you can't scold y-him,' he coughed and glanced away, scratching the back of his head. How curious.

England decided to ask later, when he was more receptive to whatever stories this lad and France had concocted.

**!DRAW A CIRCLE THERE'S THE EARTH!**

The Green Parrot.

Probably the most dangerous pub he'd been in, and that was saying something. Hardly half an hour went by when there wasn't a brawl of some kind, and the owner of the pub changed regularly (usually because the old owner was killed or had abandoned the place) enough to keep things… interesting, to say the least. He tried to avoid it whenever he could, but right now it was the best place to go.

Plus, the grog here was strong enough to support him through a tale that France had concocted. A nation of love he may proclaim to be, but he was _not_ a nation of storytelling.

Still, as dangerous as this pub was, his reputation should afford him protection from all but the bravest. He was easily recognisable, after all, although not like this. Right now he looked little better than a drowned rat, not the Arthur Kirkland that inspired fear into the hearts of man. No, he had to tidy himself up first.

'You want us to go… here?' America said dubiously, gazing up at the pub.

England rolled his eyes, 'Got a problem with that, lad?'

'But it's so…' he took in the broken windows, the sick littering the space to the side of the building, the blood stains up the walls and around the entrance. 'Seriously, how the fuck can people stay here? I'm not even a clean freak like you or Germany but-' England raised an eyebrow at that, wondering who Germany was and why America thought England a 'clean freak'. '- it's just not healthy!'

The nation gazed at the other thoughtfully, not sure why he'd missed it before. 'Yer rather fixated on cleanliness, ain't ye matey?' he snorted, still remembering the other flinging away the knife.

'Dude, there's fixated and then there's just wanting the basics...'

'Well, I'm fla'ered ye care for me wellbeing,' England replied, peering at his reflection in the other's glasses and clucking his tongue. It would have to do.

'Ha, I'm not worried about _you_,' America scoffed. The pirate took a step back, narrowing his eyes. 'It doesn't matter if you get sick. You're way more used to this stuff. But me? I don't got any immunity – really, England, you should think of others once in a while!' he scolded. 'There's no way we can stay here. We're going somewhere else,' and with a decisive nod, he turned and started walking away.

England's lip curled in disgust. What an arrogant boy. Clearly, he was used to being obeyed. Such a shame for him, then, that the only person England currently obeyed was his Queen.

'Suit yerself,' he shrugged, striding over to the pub's entrance.

After all, it didn't make a difference to him – there would be plenty more chances to get one over on France.

The pirate paused for a moment outside the door, listening to the laughter inside, before pushing hard and letting it swing inwards and hit the wall with a bang. Instantly, he was the centre of attention. He smirked and crossed the dirty floor, whispers followed in his wake.

It's him, they murmured, the one with devil eyes.

He ignored them all and leant casually on the bar, tipping his head to the side and focusing on the more expensive liquor near the back wall. The bartender licked his lips and his eyes darted back and forth before he hastened to comply. He tried to clean the permanently dirty glass and filled it with the drink, hands shaking so much he missed more than he got in. England rolled his eyes but took it and threw the glass back, downing it in one go, much to the awe of many. He slammed the glass back on the counter and the bartender hastily refilled it.

It was when he was on his fourth drink and feeling suitably relaxed that the newest cause of his headache returned.

England took great pleasure in his tense shoulders, wary eyes, flat mouth. The boy was equally the centre of attention this time, but for different reasons. While England was recognised, respected, predator, this _boy _was clearly ignorant, a newbie, prey.

But, he was brave. He didn't quell under their attention, in fact he lifted his chin a little higher, as if using it as his strength. He looked around the bar, and eventually met England's eyes. The pirate saluted him with his glass.

Whispers broke out again as the newbie crossed the floor and slipped into the seat next to him.

'Though' ye would'n come 'ere,' England purred. 'Though' i' was too _dirty_,' he tapped the counter and quick as a flash his drink was refilled. He took a sip and sighed. That hit the spot.

'You didn't exactly give me a choice,' America glared at him. 'Why didn't you follow me?'

The pirate snorted, gazing down into the dark liquid. 'Why should I, matey?' With the way the other started, clearly he hadn't realised there should be a _why_ at all. Really, this was just too much. Where _had _France found him?

'Because I'm America,' the other replied, as if that was all the explanation necessary.

'So?'

'W-what do you mean, so?' America huffed.

'What I spoke, boy,' England drawled. 'Yeh've given me naught reason to follow ye,' he finally raised his gaze to look at the other. 'All me eyes have seen is a brat who expects others to follow 'im, but ain't done naught to ensure it,' he leant across into the other's personal space, narrowing his eyes. 'The Kingdom of England bows to _no one_, and yeh'd do well to remember that, savvy?'

Satisfied America had got his message, he turned back to his drink and finished it off. Finally, the buzz he'd been missing began to appear and he relaxed, resting his chin on his palm and looking back at his companion. He could put up with one of France's tales now.

'So, yer from the future?' he questioned. America looked relieved to have changed topics.

'Yeah!' he nodded frantically. 'I know it sounds weird and shit and, y'know, I'm still not sure this isn't some weird ass thing someone drugged me as, but... it's why I know you – and why you don't know my home, 'cause it doesn't exist yet. But you raised me!' he paused and then leant in close, whispering, 'I'm a nation like you.'

England was surprised, but he did his best not to show it. France must have been drunk to suggest that this boy pretend to be a nation like them.

'I see…' he said slowly, and decided to test how elaborate their story was. 'Ye say I raised ye?' America nodded. 'Yer home, then… whereabouts will it be?' he thought about his mental map of the world. All the landmass nearby was taken by nations, so it would have to be somewhere further, somewhere obscure.

'America, it's, ah…' the other frowned. England waited. 'It's biiiiig, like, superhero big!' he began to gesture with his hands. 'There's a big canyon and some plains and…' but he wasn't revealing whereabouts it was in comparison to other land masses. He sighed and gestured for another drink to the bartender. Idiots hadn't thought that far then. 'Oh! You used to call it the New World?' his gaze snapped back to the other.

He did not – yes, he realised as he looked on that blissfully ignorant face, he did just go there. Bloody France had probably laughed his head off to suggest that part.

'I know it, somewhat,' he muttered, glaring into his drink. 'Nothing bloody worthwhile there, if ye ask me…' he certainly was _not_ sore that all his attempts to colonise thus far had failed, certainly not.

'You do? That's awesome!' America cheered and then realised England was not as happy as him. 'Dude… how can you still be pissed when I haven't even -' he broke off and shook his head. 'Whatever. Anyway, that's my home! The awesomest country in the world! Or, it will be,' he added on afterwards with a firm nod.

England was quite willing to disagree with that. He was quite partial to England, naturally, and had high ambitions that his country would rise above them all. However, that was neither here nor there.

'Very well,' he sighed, 'I believe ye.'

America blinked, 'Seriously? Just like that?'

That, more than anything, told England he was correct in his assumptions this was one of France's elaborate hoaxes. He shouldn't act so surprised he was being believed if it weren't such an absurd – and impossible – notion, should he? Tut tut. France – one less, England – one more.

He fought back a smirk as he replied, 'There are strange things in this world – a little travel through time ain't the oddest, lemme tell ye.'

'Oh…' the other scratched his head. 'Then, can I stick with you? At least until I find a way home?'

'And how do ye plan to do that?' England asked.

'Oh, I dunno. I figure it'll just happen. I randomly appeared here, so I'll randomly appear there sooner or later….'

'I weren't talkin' 'bout that, lad,' he corrected, noticing movement from the other patrons out the corner of his eye. 'Why should I let ye come wit' me? I'll likely 'ave far more fun without ye.'

America frowned. 'Dude, the party doesn't start until I get there!' he argued, but England didn't even turn to him. 'Uh… I dunno, seriously, why wouldn't you want me? I'm the awesomest person you'll ever -' he was cut off by something whizzing a hair's length past his nose and landing in the wooden surface between them, knocking England's glass to the floor and causing it to shatter.

England studied the crude dagger digging into the wood. It was dull with age and the blade was blunt, and slightly bent. He pulled it out the wood and, in one swift movement, twisted and threw it back where it came – right into the shoulder of their attempted killer.

'… What just happened?' America asked, blinking rapidly.

'Someone jus' tried t'kill ye,' the nation replied, turning back to his drink. He wondered if he would ever have enough alcohol to deal with the problems this idiot was bringing.

'You serious?'

Behind them, chaos erupted. The stabbed man had overturned his table in his panic, sending drinks and glasses to the floor and hitting several men in the chin. In turn, they knocked back into another table – and those at that table didn't take too kindly to losing their drinks. They began to punch those who had disturbed them. The brawling soon spread out of that corner to include half the room.

With the occasional person jumping in for the hell of it.

'I always am,' England smirked, nudging the other. 'This yer first time someone tried to off ye, lad? Ye should celebrate! Another grog, matey!' he called to the bartender.

A glass flew their way. America ducked and the glass sailed on to shatter against the far wall. He stared at it, stunned, and consequently missed the incoming of half a table leg. It smacked him in the back of his head and he swore loudly, clutching the wounded area with a hiss.

'Who the fuck threw that?'

England took another gulp of his drink and slid the new glass towards America. 'Yer gonna want this, lad,' he said merrily.

'How can you just sit there -' he ducked a chair coming their way, '- and act like nothing's happening!' England nudged the drink a little closer. The action was not lost on his companion who scowled. 'No I don't want to drink that crap!' he threw his hands up in the air. 'It looks like piss!'

'Tastes like it too,' England agreed, gazing into what remained of his drink before downing it anyway. He slammed the glass on the table and stood, wobbling only slightly. 'Ye ready?' It didn't take a genius to know that, in this very public brawl, it would be a great opportunity to try and take him down. He snorted, tipping back his hat a little. As if Captain Arthur Kirkland would go down like that.

'For what?'

In response, England gave a shark-like grin. 'T'join in, 'course! What did ye expect?' Without waiting for a reply, he flung his stool at the approaching man, and then darted away to deal the one behind him a punch to the stomach. When he doubled over, he met a knee to his chin and went down like a candle.

Two more arrived. The pirate twisted and planted his foot in another's face, but the thing he'd been dreading started to happen. The whole bar seemed to remember he was responsible for the first blow and were now making sure he got his comeuppance. Well, that and the fact that many had grudges against him when he'd taken their wife or girlfriend out for a simple tryst.

Was it _really _his fault the ladies found a pirate more charming than an oaf?

Now he could hold his own quite well, if he didn't say so himself, but not even he could take on this many at once, especially when he wasn't entirely sober. He managed to take down four more before someone got a lucky shot.

He flinched back, clutching the wound to his side, and tripped over a table leg before landing on the ground.

'This is jus' disgraceful, Arthur,' he muttered to himself, searching for an exit – and thus was pleasantly surprised when five people were literally swept aside. He gazed up at America who was scowling as he held a bench over his shoulder like it were nothing. Two bushy eyebrows rose.

'Five hundred fucking years!' the kid snapped, turning to glare at England and in the process knocking out two more people. Without even trying. England blinked. 'Over five hundred years and _I still have to fucking pick up your ass!_ Do you _live_ to piss me off old man?'

The nation wanted to respond to that, honestly, but he – and the majority of the fighters – could only gape.

They all knew how heavy those benches were and he was treating it like it was nothing! England narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he had found the reason he would let this boy come along with him. That strength would be very useful on a ship.

'Who's next then?' the idiot challenged, standing protectively over England. 'I'll take you all on!'

Ah. No, this wouldn't do at all. Word could _not _get out that he needed someone to fight his battles for him. England got to his feet, nearly falling back several times (why was it when you were tipsy it was much easier to fall to the floor than get up?) before grabbing hold of the lad's neck, on the strange material he'd noticed earlier. He would have to ask about that later.

'Let's not, hm?' he murmured into the man's ear, using the bench as protection. 'On my mark we escape, savvy?'

'But I want to beat them up!' America said in a childish tone.

'Oh poppet,' England cooed, patting his cheek and then his voice flattened. 'Too bad I don't care.'

With the bench on their side, creating an exit was simply a matter of sweeping it around and knocking it back. They tumbled through the crowd and out the door into dark streets. England kept tight hold as he began to navigate the streets, grimacing when the idiot continued to shout death threats at their pursuers.

'Shut yer trap already! Can't ye tell we're makin' an escape!'

'Heroes don't run away!'

'We're not runnin'-'

'We _so _are.'

'We are _not_, we're escaping. It's the new thin' heroes do, ain't ye heard?' England pulled him down an alley and ducked low, tugging the idiot beside him. He held his breath as a group ran past and didn't even glance their way. In this case, the darkness was their friend. As the footsteps faded, he breathed a sigh of relief and slumped against stone. His side throbbed mercilessly and he hissed, pressing a hand to it and grimacing when it came back wet, only to be distracted by the odd noise from his companion. It took him a few moments to realise he was gagging. 'Somethin' wrong, matey?'

'I'm dying,' the other groaned. 'Bad smell is the most unheroic death ever, ugh…'

England sniffed but smelt nothing. That's right, this lad was addled – he'd forgotten. His strength, however, now that was something to be utilised. Thank goodness he already had a reason to remain with England, else the pirate would have to come up with one. Obviously France hadn't realised just how useful this lad was to him; there was no way he would have sent him otherwise.

But let it never be said the English would not take advantage of another's mistakes… with pleasure.

'… of all the deaths, seriously, death by smell? Just-' the nation covered his mouth, stopping the rambling before it was overheard by unsavoury persons.

'D'ye want t'give away our position?' he hissed.

'I can take them,' was the reply, although it was muffled due to his hand. Thankfully, he heard learnt his lesson earlier and there was no palm licking. England eyed the bench the other still carried, currently discarded on the ground next to them, and thought that maybe he _could _handle them. If it were hand to hand combat. He _still _couldn't use a sword to save his life. 'Hey, England, what should I do with this?' he gestured to the bench.

The pirate scratched his head, wondering on the other could go from pissed to looking like a lost lamb. 'What d'ye wanna do with i'?' he asked.

'… Can I keep it? Like a memento? I mean, it was pretty heroic of me to just bust us out, right? You'd have been dead without me!' he puffed his chest up. 'Though, you know, I gotta be cursed. How come it's always me pulling your ass outta pubs and shit? Is it payback for the revolution or what?'

'This one of 'em future things, lad?' England asked, but was more focused on listening for footsteps. He heard none and then got to his feet, ignoring the pain his side caused him. There was no time. 'Let's go.'

'Where're we going?' America asked, standing upright and coming a good few inches above England. 'There's nowhere _to _go! Wait, you're a pirate… do you have a ship? Are we going to make an awesome escape on your ship while the guards chase us, like in the movies? That would be totally awesome! But only because I'm there, obviously, nobody's really awesome until the hero is -'

Oh, for goodness sake!

An indefinite amount of time later, England could be found dragging a bound and gagged idiot through the dark streets at night. The bench was left behind. The other wriggled and made muffled noises, but that was good.

People avoided someone taking a captive somewhere, after all.

They approached the docks. The pirate stuffed his companion into a corner and crept down to the walkway. The ships bashed together in the stormy night air, creaking and clanking, and his expert eye scanned for the best ship – the one which would allow a quick getaway but could be handled by two people. He spotted a promising one near the end. There were crates surrounding it on the dock, implying it was going to be used shortly therefore implying it would have supplies on they could use therefore implying it was perfect.

Ducking into the shadows as a pair of guards walked past, England waited until they'd left before returning to his companion. He began to untie him, caught sight of the glaring blue eyes that promised retribution the instant he was free, and hesitated. He would be a lot safer if he remained tied up, but sadly he needed his hands…

The nation resigned himself to his fate and released him. The next second he got a punch in the face and he stumbled back, rubbing his now throbbing cheekbone.

'Ye punch well, lad,' he praised, once more reminded of the other's unnatural strength.

'Asshole!' the idiot tore the gag out his mouth. 'Not awesome dude! Not awesome at _all_.'

'Ye would not shut yer gob! Ye deserved it,' he muttered and then hurried to change topic. 'Look matey, we need t'get to that sloop withou' bein' seen. Can ye do that?'

America stared back at him, 'Sloop?'

'That ship,' the pirate rolled his eyes and pointed to the ship he'd decided to plunder. 'Do ye get it, or do I have t'use small words?'

'Hey, it's not my fault I don't get your pirate mumbo jumbo! Seriously, why can't you just use ship like the rest of us normal people?' he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. England bared his teeth, smirked when the other cringed back, before turning and beginning to sneak across the docks. When he got half-way to their destination, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. He was quite surprised to realise once the idiot was trying to be quiet, he was quite good.

Though that pose would _have _to go.

'What're ye doin', lad?' he whispered, eyeing the way the other's hands were together by his groin, the forefingers pressed together, and how he was pressed against one of the other ships.

'Shh,' was the only reply. 'Leave this to Super Secret Agent Awesome,' and England had to admire his alliteration. Maybe with a bit more work, he could become something great. It was always the least likely ones you should look to for success – just like that young lad up in London, William; he would be something great one day – and if England could be responsible for it, well, it was a win-win situation.

America slid further down, his hands now situated by his neck, as he first searched and then darted onwards, only to come face to face with a guard. England winced when, in one swift movement, he panicked and knocked the guard into the water, creating a huge splash.

So much for 'super secret'.

'Sound the alarm!' his partner shouted. 'We got some escapees!'

England swore, 'Get goin'!' he yelled, breaking into a run and shooting past the idiot only to halt when a dozen guards blocked his way. 'Avast! Head for the ship matey!' he gestured to the one docked to their left.

'You first, I'll hold them off!' the idiot declared, bringing his hands up into a fighting position.

Well, if he insisted.

'Follow me when ye need to!' he jumped off the dock and grabbed one of the ropes, hauling himself up onto the ship. He glanced at the ship he intended to reach and then back down at America. All the guards had gone to him and were starting to circle around this ship – excellent. He grabbed hold of one of the thicker, loose lines and moved back across deck with it. He took a deep breath and began running, hoping the strong winds would give him the further push he needed to make the jump.

Things did not go as planned, though not because of the wind.

America chose that moment to run up the wooden platform, chased by half a dozen guards. The two collided, one foot of England's planting in the other's face and knocking him to the ground. The unexpected hit interrupted England's swing and then he was spiralling around and around, the world half a blur, until a sudden jerk brought him back to reality.

There was loud screaming. England looked down and blinked. It seemed America had got caught on the dragging end of the line and was now flailing as he was taken through the air unwillingly.

'Good view?' the nation called, turning his sights to the other ship. They had to time this right.

'The fucking best! You know what? We should swap, see how you like it!' Replying, however, took more concentration than England had at that moment, because they had just reached the other ship, and he reached out to grab hold of the side. The wood cut his hands and his side throbbed as it was stretched when the rope tried to make its way back.

'Get on!' he hissed, hauling himself over and collapsing on the deck. He took a second to breathe before a sudden weight began crushing his ribs. He couldn't breathe!

'Haha! What're you doing there England?' and then the pressure eased. England gasped for air and staggered to his feet, cursing when he heard the guards' armour clatter. They would be over here any minute.

'Hoist the anchor! Quickly! We're setting sail!' he ordered, shoving the idiot to where the anchor was pulled up from, before darting to the edge of deck where a wooden board connected it to the docks. He kicked it off and smirked at the guards that skidded to a halt, now unable to board the ship.

He flipped them the finger, enjoying the way their faces reddened, before darting over to the ropes that shifted the sails. The winds soon caused the ship to pull out of port, the anchor being the only thing that had stopped it previously, and once he tied the sails in place he moved to the fore of the ship. He leant against the wood and shut his eyes, relaxing as he felt the wind on his face.

He was finally back on the seas.

'England! It won't go anymore!' he sighed and turned around just in time to see the idiot let go of the wheel that controlled the anchor… without tying it to anything.

'Ye bloody blaggard! Ye don't le' go like tha'!'

Awhile after they had secured everything, America got an odd look on his face. England debated whether or not asking and then decided against it. He just wanted to sit and enjoy being back on the seas for a moment, after all. But then his companion began pacing, obviously deliberating something of great importance to him, and once more England cursed his innate curiosity. It would be the bloody death of him.

'Is something wrong, lad?'

'I dunno, I just...' America turned back to look at the dark mass that had once been land. 'I just feel like I've forgotten something.'

'We are _not _going back for it,' the pirate grumbled and then brightened. Could he catch him out now? 'And how could ye forget something anyway? I thought you said you didn't belong here. Shouldn't ye naught have anything here?'

'Ha-ha, you're right! Of course the hero hasn't forgotten anything. The hero never forgets a thing!' he gave England a thumbs up and a tooth sparkled.

England decided throwing himself overboard wasn't as half-bad an idea as he'd originally believed.

* * *

**A/N: **And so, the final chapter is re-written. Some bits remained the same, whilst others were new... I'd like to know what you think of it. I had quite a lot of fun with this chapter. Next chapter though, we're gonna see a shift in perspective from America to Canada. Opa! Hope you enjoyed!

* * *

**Info and Shit:**

1) The Cinque ('sink') Ports were near Sussex and Kent. They were once pretty important, but during Queen Elizabeth I's reign they stopped being as such. They were still well-known, though.  
2) Troubles of France is referencing to the French Wars of Religion (1562-98) between Catholics and Protestants. It was pretty brutal.  
3) Geeeermany only came to be 'Germany' around 1871 - before that, it was Prussia and HRE in the same place. Hint hint nudge nudge.  
4) England has had a lot of names. At this time, however, his place is known as the 'Kingdom of England' and ran from 907-1707. It later became the 'Kingdom of GB (with Scotland)' for around 100 years, and then the 'UK of GB & Ireland' for another rough 100 years before becoming what it is today with just Northern Ireland... and this is excluding a _lot_. Iggy just can't make his mind up, huh?  
5) By the sixteenth century, only the Spanish and Portugese had successfully put colonies in America. I think France succeeded at one time, and even the Dutch were looking promising. But England? He just kept meeting failure. -pats him- Still, I suppose he made up for it eventually...  
6) Young lad William - c'mon, guys, take a guess and see. It's not too hard.


End file.
